


lose control

by pop_tarts (thissugarcane)



Series: ring the alarm [4]
Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissugarcane/pseuds/pop_tarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the sequel to "ring the alarm".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sunday

Christina looked around. "What're we doing here?" She tapped her foot; good beat, yeah, good live band even, but the crowd was practically dead and still the place was packed. "There ain't anything happening."

"Just wait," Britney said, heading over to the bar - a real bar, complete with bartender. "Want anything?"

"They have real fruit?" Christina said, following her. People parted ways easily, making her even more convinced that this wasn't anyplace special. People were standing still, for chrissake, with a beat like that, heavy, yeah, definitely something to dance to.

Britney grabbed her arm as Christina started moving slowly, in spot, nearly unconsciously. "Wait," Britney murmured, and handed her a fruit smoothie. Christina shrugged, and Britney said, smiling a little, "it's the rules. It'll be worth it."

"Whatever," and then a woman appeared at the top of the stairs to the dance floor, dressed all in white with a cane. Britney held her glass up, and the whole crowd did too. The woman looked over at the band, the DJs. The music died off, and then she nodded, once, and came down the stairs.

Slowly, and Christina was sober so she knew that she wasn't seeing things, the crowd started moving together, like one person, all eyes on her. The woman occasionally brushed a hand over someone, dipped into their shirt, their pants, and the person would throw their head back, panting, and then she'd move on.

"You know her?" Christina asked, over the music, getting slowly louder. She could feel the bass in her ass now, leaning against the counter.

Britney drained her glass, and finally started moving too. "She used to be a client," and then the woman was right in front of Britney, and finally Christina saw Britney dance. the woman put one hand on Britney's back, and they just started grinding together, mouths an inch apart and panting together.

"Used to be, huh."

"And who is this?" the woman asked, abruptly letting Britney go and moving to face Christina.

Britney, looking ruffled but not in the least awed like everyone else, told Christina, "this is Don."

"Ah, let me guess," the lady said, and ran one finger down Christina's ribs, down to her hip. Christina was already dancing, hands up, and then Don put her hand right over the seam of Christina's mini, and she parted her legs easy, automatically, waiting for more. "you're from ALARM," Don added. "What's your letter?"

"This is A," Britney told her. Christina fought to keep from letting on how turned on she was, how hot and yeah, in control, Don was. It wasn't often people could do that, and Christina sucked in a breath, ruthlessly pushed down her reactions.

"I've heard of you," Don said, all the while her hand up Christina's skirt. "You and J, the star attractions. How does it feel?"

"If you're going to do something," Christina forced out pleasantly, "fucking do it."

Don pulled her hand away, looking at britney and grinning. Christina sagged against the bar a little, but didn't let anything else show. She'd nearly been there, too, a few more seconds and that fire would have been enough--

"We have business," Don said, and as abruptly, turned around to head back upstairs. "let's go."

~

"So how do you know her?" Christina said.

Britney paused before answering, obviously thinking it over, how much to tell Christina. "When I first came to the city, I hooked up with Elliot," she finally said. "And eventually Elliot hooked me up with Don."

Christina suddenly backed up a bit and really looked at Britney for the first time. Having seen Britney for the first time as a Sunset patron and not really believing she'd come from anywhere else, the revelation was surprising. Chris knew Elliot, she had partied with Elliot. She *liked* Elliot, but Christina didn't for a minute have any illusions about what Elliot sold. The fact was Britney would sell, Christina knew that. She was a dancer, she was a singer, she was a performer. Christina suddenly had the feeling that Don was a lot more like Elliot than she'd previously thought.

"Come on," Britney said. "We have to go up with her."

There was a boy in the corner, reminded her of J's boy, and two girls over the other side, that were all eying her. But Britney's face didn't offer any leeway, so Christina picked her drink up and followed.

"When I had enough money," Britney finally continued, "Don managed to hook me up with Sean Combs." Christina also knew Sean Combs, she'd met him with Britney and had heard of him before, while she was with the rich girl. He was all caviar and champagne, cars, food, eating. No one had any balls when Sean was around, because he made everyone else afraid of him, not really even on purpose. Christina never liked him.

Christina didn't like him because Sean knew he was better than other people. Christina really didn't like him because she knew he was right.

As they mounted the stairs, Chris asked, "How much did Don used to pay you?"

Britney looked at her for a just a minute, and Christina recognised that look, recognised it well. It was the way J's boy looked at her every minute of every day. It was the way J's boy looked at anyone that kept J - Justin - down at ALARM instead of in a better life. She never thought Britney had that in her, but there it was on Britney's face. Hate.

The next moment it was gone again, and she told Christina, "more than you can afford."

~

Britney led the way to where Don was waiting for them, up the stairs, down the end of a rickety hall with half the floorboards missing, and around a corner. Don was the only one in sight. She looked Britney up and down, and Britney leaned forward unconsciously, tilting her head and exposing her neck. Don grabbed Britney's waistband, pulling her closer, and Christina heard Britney moan.

"You said we had business?" Don asked.

Don shoved open a door and pulled Britney, stumbling, into a room with an empty bed frame, a table and two chairs. So far, aside from the little exchange at the bar, Don had completely ignored her, focusing all her attention, eye contact and personality on Britney. Christina wasn't necessarily unhappy about this because Don's personality tended to overwhelm, and Christina didn't like that feeling. She followed them into the room, just barely.

"What can I do for you?" Don finally said to Britney, and gestured to take the other chair across the table from her. The table had nothing on it except an electronic steno pad. Don pulled a portable Connect out of a pocket tucked between her breasts, and placed it carefully beside the steno. The steno lit up, and Christina saw it go through several rapid calculations, to settle on a welcome screen.

While Britney eventually sat down, Christina elected to stand by the door, leaning against the open doorframe. She didn't see any of Don's security hanging around, but she knew they were there. Other than the bedframe, the only other thing that suggested what this room was really used for was the sleek black bubble signalling a video camera in the middle of the ceiling.

Britney placed her hands face down on the table, and the top began to glow. Christina realized the whole table was Connected; there was a soft beep, and then Don relaxed, leaning back in her chair. "So, what do you have for me?"

Britney said, "I have a supplier at the dock. She can get you what you need. I know Guy's fallen through and you need a new supplier. Bananas don't come cheap."

Don raised an eyebrow. "You can get me bananas?" Christina kept her mouth shut, althought she had a sinking suspicion that the contact at the dock Britney was talking about was her. "What I really need," Don told Britney finally, "is a new angle." She waved her hand around, and suddenly Christina saw her personality wilt, her control wilt, and she looked incredibly tired. "You walked through the club, there's nothing holding it together except me, and I'm not enough."

Britney put a hand over Don's, and, "You were always enough before."

Shook her head, irritated, and, "I'm not anymore. To be honest when you called me again I thought you might be interested in working, but then someone told me you'd moved to Neptune Studios."

Britney tilted her head, squinted, and finally told Don, "Horses."

"What?"

"Horses," Britney said. "There's nowhere in the city to see them race. Get some jockeys, get some sponsors. Take bets on the Connect system. Rig up some remotes, broadcast the games to people's portables."

Don frowned. "And just where the fuck am I gonna get horses in the middle of the city?"

It was quiet for a moment. Christina finally realized that Britney had no idea, and neither did Don, and then she muttered, "Pink used to work on a ranch."

The two of them looked at her like she'd only just stepped in the room, and it seemed that Don's complete absorbtion in Britney went both ways. Still, Don accepted the statement, directing her question now to Christina. "Does your Pink know any riders?"

Christina thought. "Probably. Enough to get you started. Town she stayed in was about three hundred miles inland. Mostly dancers and a few cowboys." When it looked like Don wanted more information, Christina added, "Pink made sure the dancers were in charge."

Finally Don smiled at Christina as if she meant it. "Good girl."


	2. monday

Monday she had to do a whole eight hours plus at the courier; the Connect rang at seven thirty and Christina groaned. Sleeping naked, she threw a shoe at Mer who got up to answer it.

It was Nick. "Can you come in early?" he said, talking straight to A. "We need you, I'm backed up till noon and gonna have to take three runs myself."

"Do you good," Christina replied. She stretched, back arched, feeling every single fibre in her mattress. She'd sweat again last night; it needed running through the recycler. "I need a bath before I come in."

"Run through the air showers here," Nick told her, "I need you."

Christina finally stood, eying her body. Another bruise, this time from falling off the bike last week, was yellowing up nicely on her hip. "I'll be there in ten."

Nick almost looked grateful.

\--

When she got there it was every bit as bad as he said. Parcels were collecting in every in-tray he had, plus his desk, plus the huge filing cabinets in the back room. "Where is everyone?" The office was deserted save him, and Nick looked more than a little rushed.

He was on the Connect, yelling at probably one of the couriers. She signed in, took the first five packets in the 'rush' tray, and gave him a wave. Nick managed to put his hand over the phone and mutter, "yeah, thanks. at least you're here when you say you'll be here."

She took the lift down, across to the pharmacy like always. After a vitamin meth breakfast, Christina actually felt like she could deliver shit halfway across the city.

The first five took an hour and a half, and that was even with the bike; Christina felt the drug finally make its way through her system, and her skin started to tingle. The sun was just starting to heat the pavement up; she could feel the heat wave starting, but the meth cooled her down, and the sweat drying on her back.

She got three tips for delivery, including one from the estates' gatehouse; that one would pay the power and Connect for the next month. Back at the office, Nick was still on the phone. "You still short?" she said, scooping up the next ten packets - these were local, within twenty blocks. she'd have them out before ten.

Nick handed her another box and a message sheet - Britney had called her at work. Useless. The box was going to Joshua's diner; Christina rattled the box, it sounded like car parts. The trucks were battling tonight, it had been months since she made an appearance there but Joshua always kept those stupid machines in top condition. He'd want this before noon.

"I guess i'm off to the edge," being the edge of the city, where Joshua had his place. A diner, a greasy trailer, and enough track to have three car races, and the trucks going, all at once. People flocked out to his garage every second night.

Nick hung up and rubbed his forehead. "God, everyone wants everything right fucking now." He flipped some papers. "Yeah, Josh wants that yesterday, of course. You get the rest of the regionals?" and Christina rattled the bag of registered letters, all for the office blocks around their tower. "thank god. and I was hoping to leave early tonight, you imagine that?"

Christina realized - Nick looked tired. "You want me to close up for you?" she said, recklessly. Britney had called, and for some reason she wanted to be anywhere but the Sunset. "I got nothing goin' on till alarm."

"it'll be overtime, too," Nick said, and then sagged. "Thanks. she would have had my fucking ass if I was late tonight."

Christina was already headed to the lift. "She? good for you," she told Nick, and then, "bring her round the club some time," and then the lift got there.

Again and again, in nothing but thin cotton track pants and a white bikini, she ran the streets, signature, letter, signature, letter, signature, letter. The drug was holding strong, she wasn't even hungry. she couldn't feel the sun, the hot, disgusting air going past her face and arms and legs.

Her eight hours went past mechanically, she just ran, dropped things off, ran again. For Joshua's car part she took the bike, but she could barely feel the seat underneath her; just kept her eyes on the lines of the road. The rest of it was just one foot in front of the other, not feeling the soles of her feet.

\--

A paycheque at the end of it; Nick gave her the day's code to lock the lift and ran out early. Christina had been working for the same courier long enough that she could do all his paperwork, and did; Nick owing her a favor could come in handy. She didn't think too hard about the other reason, the genuinely grateful look on his face when she offered.

Britney was waiting for her at home. She smiled, slow and gentle. "I tried to contact you."

Christina glared at Mer; obviously the stupid bitch had let Britney in. She shucked the pants, stripped off her clothes and the courier headband, and went for the washcloth. "I was busy."

"I wanted to ask if you--"

Christina, running the water, felt herself tighten. "I'm busy."

Britney took one step towards her, in tiny sandals. "I have something for you." She held it out, and when Christina just kept wiping the sweat and grime off herself, Britney put it on the table. "I was hoping you'd come with me for an hour tonight. I have to go down to talk to Eliot, but it's been a long time since I've been that deep." She looked away carefully; Christina knew the anxiety in her voice was staged.

Christina wanted a nap. She wanted a nap, and she wanted some food; the meth was wearing off, she could do with another tab, too. She wanted all of those things and it was six thirty already, there'd be no time for a nap unless she went now. "Can't you meet her somewhere topside?"

Britney's eyes flicked away. "I have to price the merch," she said, carefully. "For Don."

The washcloth hit her bruise, which obviously went deeper than it looked, and Christina winced, feeling that old familiar ache. There were some tabs in her drawer unless Mer had raided them, but no - looking and seeing those little yellow pills was like finding gold. Swallow, close her eyes, that was better. Christina said, "I can't."

A pause. "I just."

"You have your own bodyguards," Christina said, "Pharrell wouldn't let you wander around without one. I saw him in the hall as I went past." She dropped the dirty washcloth, suddenly, and it slopped water out of the basin and onto the floor.

Britney didn't stay, but she left whatever it was she'd brought with her. only after the door was closed did Christina look at what it was - a portable Connect, with all channels and all communications. perversely, it just made Christina resentful.

The mattress was still sticky, and had been baking in the sun coming through the window all day. Christina lay flat on her back, and felt the second tab start to work, slowly, more gentle than the first. she closed her eyes, and didn't move, just felt the world slip away as she tried not to think, tried to do nothing but breathe in and out, slow and easy and after ten minutes, she got up.

Britney was waiting downstairs for her. "A half hour," Christina said, "and I have to be at alarm. you can have ten minutes."

They crawled down into the abandoned subway tunnels, and Christina didn't say a word until Britney passed Eliot a wad of cash. She didn't have a watch, and Britney's bodyguard didn't have a watch, so she counted breaths just long enough. Christina tapped her foot, and listened to the echo against the damp walls that Eliot called home; a few of her kids peered from behind pillars, pretty girls and boys with big, expressive eyes, shifty slim kids that could slip in and out of vaults and offices.

"For your trouble," Britney started to say, but Christina whirled around and was already striding up to the staircase, the complex ladder system that lead to street level. Tim threw her a wave from down a tunnel - she threw her arm up, and clambered out. With her high heels on, Britney would take forever to follow her.

The timepiece at the top of a nearby office tower told her she'd given Britney nearly fifteen minutes. Three and a half minutes. Three and a half minutes gone she'd never get back.

\--

The run to ALARM, without a tab, pounded into her head. Twenty three blocks, and a left turn, and she could feel the rumble of the city beneath her feet. The club, there it was, faint sign against the light sky. The city wasn't ever dark, not even at night - pollution, they said, but Christina didn't care. The faint sick yellow on her skin hid all the scars. She was barely in a skirt, just a slip really, a little thing that would rip in the ring, tear and she'd have to bind herself before she fought anyone.

B was on the door like always. "A, you're off tonight. They're doing amateur night."

She leaned against the building, and stared at the people winding slowly around the chainlink lineup; it went down the block, like always, like forever. "maybe I'll head to the trance room," she said, "take a trip. Red in tonight?"

"Same as always," B told her, letting another ten past the gate. "He's up in my place. Regulars aren't on the floor yet."

Irrationally, Christina slid a little closer to B, put a hand on the back of his thigh casually. "let someone else take the door, come up with me." The rumor was B fucked all the fighters, no matter who they were - he had first taste, and then they were part of the real scene. She hadn't slept with him since she'd first come to alarm; she'd bet he hadn't slept with anyone twice.

She said anyway, "come up with me," and then, "there's no spectacle tonight, we can get fucked and watch the new blood."

B hesitated for only a minute; then someone came over to the gate and let him leave. Christina watched his legs, the muscles in his back, as he mounted the back stairs to his own apartments.

Red was up there, Red and Pink and that girl from last week, and J even. D had an ancient player going in the corner, and he had slower, simple, deep bass and a voice, nothing but, enough to dance to but not to fight. Christina felt herself start to move instinctively; the others looked up, watched their entrance.

"here," and Pink held out two little pills and a strip of something green. "We're already ahead of you."

The pills went down like candy, and the strip melted on her tongue. Christina closed her eyes, put her hands up, felt herself moving in no particular way, just moving, just feeling her limbs keeping the rhythm. D mixed a new beat in, and all the hairs on her arms stood on end - their music was overlaid on top of the main room dance floor, and people yelling in time for the amateurs. "Hey," someone said over her shoulder, and then, "it's early yet."

Christina felt a hand on her shoulder, and put her fingers through the knuckles. That was Pink, short nails and the scar on the back of her hand from some animal bite. Another arm encircled her waist, and she kept her eyes closed, closed and a smile on her face.


	3. tuesday night

The first thing Christina saw when she pulled herself up into the ring was Don and fucking Sean Combs sitting front row center in the bettor box. That couldn't be good. The two of them were talking to Busta, and Christina narrowed her eyes as Don saw her, then pointed at her. Sean nodded, looking thoughtful, and then J came out onto the floor, tapped the ring floor with his bare fist. Christina smiled at him; and Sean pointed at him.

Really not good.

B looked from one to the other, shrugged his shoulders, and put their names up on the board. Christina shook her head, staring at J. "They're trying to kill us," she said, "that's the only reason anyone would put us in the ring tonight."

J just pulled his gloves on. "What should we give'em, the choreography, or the real thing?"

Mer brought Christina's wraps over as well as two tabs of ex. Her feather boa was sprayed with some kind of sealer that kept it pristine, fluffy, with the appearance of softness, though Christina knew the feathers were sharp. Christina took the offered drink, the offered tab, the offered stims, and then spat the water back into the bucket. "Fuck'em," she finally said, "they don't deserve the real thing."

J took the other tab, rolled his neck back and forth. His neck joints popped and cracked, and he clapped his hands together. "You don't like her, do you," he finally said. It wasn't a question.

Christina didn't need to answer, but she did. "I don't like either of them. They don't belong here."

J crouched down, leaned against the ropes, and then both of them felt the bass in the music start to thump in familiar patterns, through their bare feet and up their bones. Even though she resented it, Don's presence up on the bettor platform meant Christina was a little more aware of how her hips were thrust out, a little more aware of how J's hand, resting on the back of her thigh, looked. Christina looked down at his hand, and the familiar chill went up her spine. "If we're giving them something," she said, "we might as well make it good."

J shook his head. "You really don't like her, do you."

Christina answered with, "Where is everyone tonight?" She hadn't seen J's boy at all, and Pink and Red were up in Busta's place, watching through the one-way mirror up in the top loft. They weren't coming down. "Only regulars around are you'n me, and Chris K."

"Chris K. hasn't missed a night in ten years," J started to say, but then they had no more time, because Sean raised his arm, and Busta finally made the board flash Round One.

Christina didn't have time to move. J grabbed her thighs, threw her down, pulled her feet from under her. The sharp crack of her head against the soft mat jolted her entire body, and even as he loomed over her throat, Christina wanted him inside, wanted his hands pushing her hands into the mat, wanted his hands up her skirt. The bass boomed through her ass like always and she grabbed his arms, tossed him over her shoulder carefully, made sure he was tucked up before he rolled over - and in the next instance threw herself up again, onto her feet.

"Good start," she panted, and then, "but we better not blow it all in the first round."

J threw a few punches, nothing fancy, nothing special. She grabbed his wrist, pulled him close, and threw a leg up over his hip. Her mini flashed, flew up around her waist, but Christina didn't care. Her legs were dripping with sweat. J asked her, "I wonder who side they're on?"

They parried and hit, dancing, feeling each other up casually. J caught her ankles as she tried to kick him, and Christina threw herself over backwards, landed on her hands, poised with her back perfectly arched while J balanced her feet - then he let go and she flipped over again, landing lightly and going to punch him again.

It was nothing, they hadn't even bothered to turn off the music between rounds. Round one finished with Christina on his shoulders, thighs locked tightly around his neck as she flipped down onto her hands again; Round two ended with Justin pulling her waist to lock with his possessively. Her legs parted easily, and he was leaning down into her, fingers just about to go up her skirt when the bell went.

"A," he said, letting her down easily, "you'd better take something else. Those aerobatics are gonna kill you."

"m'fine," but it was true, she was tired. Signalled to B, quickly, so quick that no one else probably caught it, but Busta saw and his nod made Chris sigh in relief. "Just got us a reprieve. Three rounds, that's it."

"Good," and J looked nearly as tired as she felt. Course, with a hard-on all night it'd be tough not to waste energy. "I'm gonna fucking crash out after this, I can just feel it."

Christina sank into the splits, trying to ease her aching muscles. They weren't doing anything complicated, nothing strenuous, no bruises or anything - it was ballet, not boxing - but still her joints were sore from the moves. She leaned her head back onto the mat, and stared up at him. She could just see up the leg of his shorts, and shuddered slightly. "How much you think people'd tip us if we went for it, end of round three?"

J inhaled sharply, and Christina jumped up just as Busta raised his arm - warning for round three. It wouldn't start until Don or Sean gave the word; they were the high brass in the seats tonight, and so they controlled the fight, but Busta knew it would be soon. "You think," J started, but then Don got up out of her seat, making to lean down to the platform.

Her voice carried to both of them, even as the music hit a frenzy and the crowd started chanting their letters. "I've a thousand riding on A," she said clearly, "and Sean dropped a thousand on J. Make it good." It was a warning, but Christina didn't care, they'd already thrown the fight, nothing to do now but collect the tips and go dance till six in the morning. Don could fuck herself.

J shook his head, angry. He just said, "I'm in."

Don raised her arm, suddenly, and dropped it; Busta put up Round three.

This round was different - each punch made its mark, Christina felt a rib crack when J kicked her. She stopped moving, suddenly, and stood, head down. J stepped towards her, and put a hand under her chin, making her look up; she dippped down, trying to knock his knees out from under him. He saved himself with an arm, and grabbed her shoulder with the other, forcing her down too. They ended up sprawled out, Christina's leg thrown over his waist-

and there was nothing for it, the tab was floating strong and Christina leaned down, pulled herself onto him and kissed his mouth. she felt J fall onto the mat, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other went up her skirt - and aaah, a finger, pushing her panties aside, finally, finally, and then he ripped them with one hand, pulled them off and tossed them aside. Christina straddled his waist, hands fumbling with the velcro of his shorts, and then J was helping her and then she slid onto him and

that was it, right there. The music faded away, somehow, and Christina closed her eyes. Justin cupped her head, flipped her over so they were on their sides, her hands wrapped firmly around his neck, her leg thrown over his hip, and he was moving slowly, slowly, and she was matching his rhythm and it was better than the music, the mat didn't exist, the crowd didn't exist, nothing existed except her lips, and J, and her body, and his hand cupping the back of her head. She clung to his neck as, slowly, slowly, slowly, and then

crack. Round over. Christina gasped, body arched, vibrating, every muscle tense, every hair standing on end, pressing into Justin, and stared at Justin's face as she came.

~

"Impressive," Don told J when they resurfaced. Christina shook her head. The tab was starting to slide down her legs, little chills all over. She shook her head and tried to concentrate, wiped sweat off her forehead. Busta had led the two of them out of the ring, Christina in a daze and stumbling. Justin had been leaning on her shoulder. "You've a way with her, don't you?"

Christina shook her head again, trying to clear her skull. Don was talking to J; J's glassy eyes meant he wasn't paying attention. Don didn't get the point of a fight, of boxing. Christina said, "fuck off."

Don leaned back in her chair, glancing at Sean. Sean grinned at her. "I like you."

Christina put a steadying hand on Justin's shoulder, reaching up, as her legs started wobbling again. Strong tab. Strong tab. "Fuck you."

Justin nodded. "Fuck you."

Don raised an elegant eyebrow, then fished several bills out from between her breasts. "I believe," she said to J, "these belong to you."

Christina looked over, as Justin instinctively took the money. Sean shrugged, handing his thousand over to Christina. "you earned it," he said finally.

Christina grabbed the money, sure, but she grabbed J, too, and pulled him away from them. "Fuck you," she said.


	4. wednesday

Nick took one look at her face the next morning and blanched; "what were you up to last night?"

Christina stared at herself in his reflective desk. Her cheek was bruised, as if someone had slapped it, and her eye was swollen. "Same old," she answered automatically, but shivered. Something had changed.

"You've deliveries to make," Nick said, startling her. "Deliveries?" He rolled his eyes. "The thing I pay you to do?"

"Nick," Christina said, "how did you get into this job?" She pushed her hair back from her face. "I mean, you're not born into money. How did you end up here?" and she waved an arm around.

Nick's surprised, and scared, expression made Christina realize that she'd never asked him the slightest thing about himself, about his time off. She knew he didn't do the clubs; she knew he wasn't rich. He lived in the same tenement she did. That was all she knew.

He finally pulled out a file, marking off deliveries nervously. "My mother sold me to the company," he said. "As a child. I was a runner until they trained me on the personel system."

Sold as a child to the rich. It had happened before. Christina didn't know why she didn't expect it. "You still indentured?"

Nick shrugged. "Monetarily? No." He didn't elaborate, but where else would he go? the job paid, he was trained, he was good at it. he owed his life to the company. They clothed and fed him, probably took good care of him. Nick seemed like the loyal type.

"You know," and Christina swept the first pile of envelopes into her bag, "we never get together outside of work."

"Nope," Nick said.

~

Pink was waiting for her downstairs.

"I don't really have--" she started, but Pink held up a certified envelope, and Christina nodded. Okay. She was working. Okay.

She tried not to get used to the feeling of Pink on the back of the bike.


	5. thursday night

"No."

Britney held a stack of vouchers out; they'd be good to collect real food, real drinking water, and they'd be good for months. A glance at the date said that they expired a year from the day they were activated.  There had to be two dozen.  "It's a gift, a thank you," Britney started, but Christina cut her off with,

"*no*," and nearly slammed the door in her face.

Britney carefully laid the vouchers down on the counter, and said carefully, "I need to talk to someone about getting horses."

Christina didn't ask whether Britney had told Don about the club; she didn't ask whether she'd put Don up to it.  It didn't matter, Christina didn't care.  She tossed Britney the number of someone out at Pink's ranch. There was no way she'd make Pink do it.

"Thank you," Britney said, and then, "what are you doing--"

"the club," Christina told her shortly.

"Would you like some compa--"

"Go home," and Christina shoved the door closed behind her.


	6. friday morning

Britney was waiting at home for her, six o'clock and all Christina wanted was a solid two hours sleep. She didn't take the proffered bribe - a bag full of mangoes - didn't say a word when Britney held the car door open. She did take the money.

~

Britney said, "Did you sleep with her too?"

It was six am, and instead of going home Don had insisted on the docks straight off. Christina took her bike, winding it carefully through the early morning traffic, sparse as it was. The only people really out this early were a few cars, a three-wheeler or two, and the occasional flyer. She directed them straight to pier section nineteen-alpha, with Don's car following carefully behind, Britney in the backseat.

Twice she had to stop when Don got caught in traffic while her bike slipped through. A trip that should have taken ten minutes ended up being nearly half an hour. Christina decided that cars really weren't worth it.

Steph wasn't even around yet; the whole pier was deserted. No ship in, no containers to move. They must have been in holding out in the bay. "Well," Christina said to them, "we can either sit here and wait, or take a boat to meet the ship."

Don was surprised. "You actually know someone on a ship?"

Christina looked at Britney when she said, "Yes."

Steph was a transient, living below-decks in one of the massive ocean liners. Half her life was spent in the water and the other half was spent hauling cargo around. Christina never shipped out with her across the ocean, never left sight of land, though she did spend four days with Steph when they did the slow hop up the coast and back again, dropping freight off at each major port. Most of that was hauling cargo too, but it was cash pay and at night they slept in hammocks rigged among the pipes and above the water level. In the lower decks the water was nearly up to your knees.

Christina suspected that all the shipboards were part amphibian. They never wore boots, never seemed to notice the water. She went barefoot like the rest of them but only through sheer force of will. By day two she was shivering constantly, with pnemonia. Steph had even let her have the nicest hammock, the one closest to the heater and hot water pipes, and still Christina had gotten sicker than any other time in her life.

Don's white suit had ash and stains and splotches on it from ALARM; it was yellowing and on the back someone's hand had left obvious fingerprints. Britney was a little smarter, she was dressed in shortshorts and not much else. Christina still had her fight clothes on, nothing but a bikini.

Don's face lit up. "I say we go and meet the ship."

Christina looked her up and down. "You'll have to change."

Don dismissed this suggestion with a flick of her fingers. "The suit's ruined anyway, how bad can it be?"

Christina shook her head. "You can't go onboard a ship's lower decks without following the dress code. It's an insult to those onboard." She nodded to Britney. "None of them can get much more fabric than that. They get work pants, and once a month a new shirt. Everything else is scrounged."

Don shrugged, stripped the jacket off, and after a minute kicked off her boots, since Britney had stiletto sandals and Christina the normal sandals she usually wore to bed. "You'll have to take off more than that." Don stripped her outer shirt off, too, left with just the undershirt that was painfully thin and had absolutely no style. Christina said, "now the pants."

Don stood there a minute, and Britney didn't say a word, but she pulled a switchblade from her pocket and very carefully cut the legs off Don's pants. They were looser, longer shorts than most people could afford, but they would do. Don stood there looking embarrassed while Britney took care of her. Christina suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and angry. "There," Britney murmured.

Christina was already stowing her bike, locking the ignition and clipping the helmet to the back. "Leave the car over there," and she pointed to behind a tool shed, out of the way if any containers came. "We gotta find a boat."

When Don went to move the car, Britney asked her, "how long were you and her sleeping together?"

"Not long," and Christina bent over, knees to the plastic deck plating. She was examining the work orders, trying to find a runner-sized dock vehicle that wouldn't be missed for the next few hours. "Long enough."

"how'd you meet her?" Britney asked.

Christina resisted the urge to snap at her. She didn't give a shit, anyway. "Pink took me on board a freighter one day," she told Britney. "No one on board is really allowed on land. It's never said, but there's no time to get off ship unless you leave permanently. I met her a bunch of times at work." She started pacing, trying to look busy as a flyer went overhead. She had the codes to use the deck vehicles, but Christina knew that she'd never get away with this as official business. It would be better to just not have to explain any of it. "Here, this one," and Britney held the mooring line while Christina punched in the unlock code to the slip. "It's big enough that all three of us will fit."

She helped Britney get on the back, and then showed her the safety strap, making sure Britney was secure before even turning to Don. "If you've never been on one of these, they're not easy to drive. So just sit still or you'll fuck up the balance." Don got on in front of Britney, and then Christina slipped in front, gripping the handles. She didn't even bother to check if Don was secured.

~

"Options are thin right now," Steph said, leading them back into her bunk - or really, the closet that her and three other guys shared, hammocks all stretched out, foot lockers warpped in plastic. "Especially for food. You'd be better off trying section twenty six, somebody there might be able to get you the exotic fruit you're looking for."

Don tilted her head. "You know who I might talk to?"

Steph sighed. "Yeah." Christina knew that once Steph passed Don off as a customer she wouldn't see any of the money, and that wasn't fair, because she'd already agreed to the shipping and storage space.

Don seemed to perceive this and asked, "What *do* you have access to?"

Steph asked, "What do you need? I can get clothes, some luxury items." Don nodded. "But mostly what this shipment has goes to the agricultural settlements three, four hundred miles inland. It's all farm stuff."

"Farm stuff, you say?" Steph nodded, and Don looked at Britney. "Like, for keeping horses?"

They left the pier with an order for a thousand feet of fencing, twenty sets of tack, saddles and bridles, and enough feed to keep twenty horses a month. "We'll be back here before then, don't worry. Feed needs to come in regular, and you can always buy it inland. Saddles, though, they're different, you have to get them imported, and we're the only ship that carries'em."

Don told her, "Don't worry. I don't intend to go anywhere else."


	7. saturday night

After Christina's shift at the docks she found Britney waiting beside a car, and no one but a driver present. Her and Justin were gonna go spar at the gym, Pink trading off every half an hour, then maybe catch some sleep before heading out to the big night. Lance was just bringing her bike around, helmet in his hand, when Britney walked up to the three of them. She smiled and immediately Christina was set on edge. The first words out of Britney's mouth were, "we managed to book our first race."

"The first race?"

Britney said, "The thing is we're not sure how many people will show. Don needs over a thousand to break even."

Christina was already going through the number of calls she could make. Britney probably already talked to Sean and Pharrell but Christina had other connections, fighters and Busta himself could probably get some people together if she asked. She was halfway through the list before she thought to ask, "When?"

Britney's answer was just hesitant enough that Christina realized she knew exactly how the news would be received. She answered, "Tonight. People in place by midnight, race starts at one."

Britney continued, something about how they managed to rope of some of the lowest tunnels underground where they were keeping the horses - nothing but railroad tracks anymore, but they managed to get a good track, even put some mulch down - but Christina already backed up and dismissed her. When Britney realized Christina was ignoring her, she put a hand on Christina's arm. "We were hoping," she said, "that you, all of you, might be able to spread the word--"

and Christina was gripping her wrist. Britney made her arm go lax, and still Christina ground the bones in her wrists together. She asked, teeth clenched together, "Do you know what Saturday night is at ALARM?" She would have gone on, but it was obvious, of course Britney did, of course she knew. Don knew, Britney knew. Everyone knew.

"It's just one Saturday," Britney said, and then, "We need your help."

Christina let her go, stepped back, shrugged her shoulders. She looked at Justin, and his face was oddly veiled, and then told Britney, "this is the first time I actually feel used." Turned around, and almost didn't care whether Justin and Pink left too. It was gratifying to hear their footsteps half a pace behind her.

~

Saturday night and Christina was only a little bit surprised to see Pharrell's face up lounging beside Busta and the main room DJ. Chad ws waving a betting ticket around, and Pharell's got his portable Connect out. He wasn't playing as poverty stricken before, but still no one down there knew who he was. No one down there knew who anyone was.

Christina knew they were gonna put her and Pink, or her and Justin, in the ring tonight. She knew people wanted to see what her and Justin would do next. They'd put Justin in the ring with anyone.

The first round was Justin and Red, some fancy kickboxing, all fast paced and blurred limbs. Christina doesn't watch their style, doesn't watch their hands and feet, but instead their elbows, their faces, the crowd. Pharrell passed her blue tab, and it melted on her lips, sank into her tongue and gave her mouth a metallic flavor. She let the crowd push her on, and eventually her name flashed up on the board for a lightning round, five minutes of aerobatics with a fighter from 52nd.

The girl's good, and the crowd want them again. Christina nodded to her, stretched her back out until she heard it pop faintly. After their second bout, still nothing too bad, a bleeding lip and bruised, swollen foot, Pharrell comes down and shows her his Portable. "Thought you might be interested in the race," he said, but not unkindly. "doesn't look to be much of a turnout."

Christina shrugged, but it still stung. "I'm sure they'll wrangle up more people next week."

Pharrell said, "Britney had to work tonight." He turned the screen to Christina.

The horses were miniature, like little toys racing around the dark screen. Christina didn't care, she shoved the Connect away. "Dance with me," she said, and pulled Pharrell towards her, bending and moving, letting him snap her around. With each beat another joint would pop, pop, pop, and Christina could feel the music in the bass and every time her knees shifted or her shoulders creaked.

But it was hollow, it was nothing that Christina actually felt anymore. Pharrell had to lean into her, his lips actually against her skin to make himself heard. "You know, in all my years" he said to her, "I ain't never bet on a fight." Christina looked at him, and he patted her on the shoulder, and Busta called for her to go into the ring.

J came up, his boy close behind, and had to lean over Pharrell's shoulder to yell at her, "training round tomorrow, B's just said. got a ride?"

Christina nodded, and tucked herself up closer to Pharrell to answer J. "You?"

"yeah," and then he pulled out a messy envelope, held together with a rubber band. "do me a favor and return this, would you?" Christina didn't have to look inside to know it was money.

The thing of it was, once you were given a tip, you couldn't ever return it. A fighter's reputation was based on the fact that they took whatever people wanted them to have. That was the definition of being in the ring - it was who they were. you could refuse someone, but once you were there, you had to take what you were given.

"it's on my way," she told J. "No sweat." After the way the race looked to be going, Don might be glad of it back.


	8. sunday morning

Sundays were big training days because Sundays were usually the only time any of them had more than four hours off at a time. They also planned bouts. They didn't train at ALARM because it was depressing somehow to see the club not full of people; instead Busta met them at a park, at one of the few patches of grass left in the city.

Sometimes they showed up, sometimes they didn't. Christina usually slept sunday round, but today she felt like going. Christina and Pink drove in together because Pink had stayed at her place again last night. Before they got on the bike Chris said, "I gotta make a stop first."

Pink didn't say anything, just nodded and got on behind her. Christina knew that Don lived at the club, and was there mornings too. Britney had told her. Tucked into her jacket was two thousand, in a plain white envelope Nick gave her when she asked him. Nick was home Sunday mornings, too.

She walked up the stairs to the back entrance, knocked on the door, and one of Don's people opened it up. He offered to take the package but Christina refused, dug her heels in until Don herself came to the door. "I have something for you," and she thrust the envelope at Don. Don took it, looked inside, and Christina told her, "Every penny. Give Sean his half." She didn't wait for an answer. She didn't wait for anything, but went down to the bike, started it, and drove straight to the park.

~

The heat of the day was partly diffused by the shade of the nearby tenements. this was one of the few green spaces left in the whole city. The grass was brown, discolored, and the trees were gnarled and brown too. Christina dismounted, left her helmet dangling carelessly from one handlebar.

B and the rest were already there - they were stretching, pulling the mats out and doing some moves. Training meant nothing actually connected - you touched the guy, not hit him. you planned the moves you'd use against each other. Ballet. Christina shucked her light overshirt, and came up in just a bikini. It was light enough that you could see the faint white lines running down everyone; scars from operations, bruising, cuts. you could even see the one cutting all the way across J's back where someone tried to knife him from behind. If Christina looked down, she knew she'd see just as many little white lines criss-crossing her limbs, too.

Pink had a hand on her shoulder, sunglasses in place. Christina wished for a second she had glasses, something to dull the glare of the day and make those white lines fade. They were only visible in the daytime.

J nodded to her, tossed her a mat to unfold. Pink grabbed the other end. Busta looked her up and down, looked at Pink, and he nodded to himself. "There ain't never gonna be anyone in the ring like you, A."

She felt queasy somehow. "I ain't out."

He looked at Justin, and at Pink, and said, "You will be."


End file.
